Drove Through Ghosts To Find You
by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: Silent Hill is not for the faint of heart. "Supernatural, Meet Silent Hill" Series
1. Drove Through Ghosts To Find You

**Summary:** Merrick (properly known as Jeffrey's demon that slow danced the poor boy to his death) has always taken a lively interest in the deranged, so possessing Walter Sullivan is no surprise at all. Aiding Walter in the "21 Sacraments" is not a road that will lead to Walter's reunification with his mother but rather invite the Devil to step out of his Cage. The demon is more than eager to meet his Maker…

**Rating:** 'M' for Mature Audiences

**Pairing:** Merrick (Jeffrey's Demon from Repo Men in Season 7)/Lucifer, Walter Sullivan/Lucifer

**Drove Through Ghosts To Find You  
**Supernatural, Meet Silent Hill Series**  
****Written By:** fuckyeahlucifersupernatural

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"_Because the one that he was trying to wake up was actually the Devil. The baby had been deceived."_

Hazel eyes stare at the cemetery that's been rummaged and dug through madly over the years. No one bothered to return it to its state and Walter didn't want anyone to return it to its former state. There was a sense of pride at the numbers written on top of the casket and a giddy elatedness that he had a play to part in bringing his Father back. Walter had a fanatical sort of streak that pushed boundaries and a degrading desperation for an abandoned parent that left him willing and motivated. Merrick saw potential in this haphazard Cult as they nurtured and raised Walter, practically salivating at the mouth when the priest of the Order's Valtiel sect wanted to play possession.

Oh no. He didn't want some uncreative dick that used to have wings influence and shape Walter. _He _wanted to do it. _He _wanted to play a part in this ritual that would bring his Father back, the seals just waiting to be broken. So Merrick, Lilith's lieutenant and loyal to a Father he's never met, possessed Walter Sullivan. He didn't need to take control when it came to the killings and the makeshift doctor episodes on the victims. No, Walter was self-motivated in his crazed ideals, certain that a "mother" would be returned to him.

There was one more sacrament left but already he could feel the colliding and push between the different planes of existence. Could feel his Father pressing against the membrane of this world, pushing and stretching it until it gave. It was progress, however. Physical world was but a throw away but already this one shifted - this limbo of a sort - changing to accommodate the heavy presence of something bigger than itself.

The sixty-sixth seal had to be broken and each victim helped undo the latches to his Father's Cage.

Letting his right hand continue to bleed, blood dripping off the grooves of his palm to hit the ground, Merrick stared at the cemetery anxiously. Nervously. This was not what Lilith wished out of him, instead wanting to wait because their ringleader, Azazel, was no longer part of the living. The lieutenant didn't want to wait. He continued on forward with his own affairs, keeping it to himself as he moved through both reality and this world crafted of something that reeked of congealed blood and black magic. Walter was the perfect meatsuit to use, so acquainted and adapted to the supernatural.

"Ah, a devoted son," cold breath hit the nape of his neck, causing the demon to swivel around to find a towering blond staring at him. A delighted white enameled smile met him followed by a quiet chuckle, "You rang?" Eyes were sunken in, blue eyes staring out piercingly, the only splash of color in this gray-washed world. Face was pocketed with openings in the flesh, revealing healthy red muscles, blood beading out until it swelled and spilled down his cheek. The blonde seemed unfazed by it, instead tilting his head and taking a better look at Walter. Lips pulled into a kind smile when the demon fell on his knees in reverence.

"F-Father, you're hurt? Your vessel..."

The blond turned his head upward, squinting as if there was a sun peering out and he was staring directly at its light. "An improvisation. He's strong enough to get me from here to the outside, but he already is beginning to wear and tear. Hence, why I need you to finish your job." An encouraging word here and there, moving forward to cup Walter Sullivan's face, thumbs rubbing at his cheekbones. But there was a vague look of disinterest on the blond's face that told Merrick he was a blunt tool. He wanted to be so much more to the fallen archangel. Wanted to greedily win his affections, relishing in the power that would give him.

Closing his eyes when lips kiss his forehead, he boldly raises a hand to cover over Lucifer's, sighing softly when the hand shows no inclination of moving.

"I'll do what is needed to finish and get you to your true vessel," he quietly swore, opening his eyes to see the Devil nodding pleasantly. Than his hand was gone and the Devil looked to his right, eyeing the coffin dug up with blood-red numbers scrawled on its surface.

The demon gnawed on his lip, a bit needy for attention and praise for all his hard work. Work that's been going on for years and years that he slaved over for this moment: to meet his maker. Yet Lucifer seemed disinterested.

"I've seen him. Your vessel," Merrick blurted out.

"Oh?" Finally interest showed, watching the fallen archangel prowl around him, footsteps slow and steady. Eyes glinted with a dark sense of hunger. Merrick was giddy at this discovery and Walter shared in the excitement, still blissfully ignorant of the main outcome of the ritual he was performing but understanding that this Lucifer was the key to the success of the ending goal. Idiot.

"He's strong."

Lucifer gave a pleased hum, arctic-colored eyes flashing in the gloom, fingers rising to scratch at his jaw. He continued to walk around the demon, studying and eyeing him like a predator would to its prey, quietly regarding him. The demon licked his lips and continued on.

"On a diet of demon blood, sir. Getting stronger by the second...as is his appetite..."

The smile now seemed permanent on Lucifer's face, looking breathtakingly dangerous in this dreary setting, something that made the demon's heart palpitate.

"Handsome, for a human. You will always surpass, of course," Merrick added hurriedly but Lucifer seemed untroubled by it. "Clever. Not an idiot. Insightful..." These were all things he heard from Brady or the other demons that kept a close eye on Sam as he grew up. The demon himself never actually interacted with Sam but the information was making the Devil close to him. Lucifer would occasionally close his eyes and hum, as if imagining Sam Winchester from these simple statements.

"Good. Good. Very good... You are special. You have a part to play..." he murmured lowly in affirmation, eyes looking down at Walter's chest, as if spotting something through the clothing. "Take the shirt off. I want to see." Calm and soft command floated into his ears, hands making quick work of the jacket, practically tearing the dirty shirt off of him. Deep bruising lined his side where his Receiver of Wisdom hit him with a pipe a day back, already turning the ugliest of purples and reds. Cold fingers reached to skim across the bruises, fingers dragging as Lucifer walked to examine his back, giving a guttural sound at the sight of the numbers. Fingers trace them slowly, causing the demon to shudder. Closing his eyes, head bowed, he feels himself examined and prodded like a child is with a new toy.

"Such a loyal son..."

Fingers slipped down to the curve of the small of his back, thumb kneading the skin, hearing the demon practically purr at the attention. Lucifer licked his chapped lips, free hand reaching to curl into Walter's greasy locks. "But something keeps on bothering me," the Devil confessed and before the demon could even prepare himself, legs folded underneath him as if a force snapped them and he saw stars. There was a roar of pain beating through his skull and he couldn't begin to trace the line of action that led to this. Headache beat a rapid tattoo against his cranium, vision blurred by tears and something else. Merrick had to wade through the human reactions to pain, struggling to keep consciousness.

The scenery began to clear and hazel eyes stared blindly at a tombstone, hands gripping at the earth underneath him as his legs felt numb. Blood coated the edge of the stone, staring blearily at it before realizing something was oozing out of his left eye. Fingers remained curled in his hair, Devil standing over him after ramming the demon into the stone.

"If you're so loyal, why is there this side excursion?" The Devil hummed out questioningly, hand tightening on his hair before slamming Walter's skull back into the gray stone. "I thought Lilith was going to die in a pretty white dress on the altar. Am I wrong?" words were clipped and accusing.

Walter gave a hiss, limbs feeling useless at the moment and mind swimming in a cacophony of sounds and colors.

"_Am I wrong?_"

Grip tightened in warning and the demon gave a rasped out, "No...my Lord. Sorry...got eager." Maybe groveling would keep him in one piece, breathing harshly as silence fell. Eyes remained closed, waiting to meet the tombstone again. The Order was always something he had his eyes on, feeding them bullshit here and bullshit there, but Walter came in with the words "possess me" stamped on his forehead. Walter had the motivation and Merrick could provide the machinery. The idea of using the Cult as a way to open the seals seemed clever, although Walter was at times sloppy, even leaving his name on the bodies.

Lucifer bent down, finally, to flip Walter onto his back, staring at the bloodied eye. A new beat. He tutted at the demon, affectionately smoothing his hair down with his hand. Thumb reached to swipe away the tears welling up in the corner of his eyes from the abuse, suddenly the Devil soothing and gently shushing, "Shh, shh, don't cry. How can you know what I expect out of you if you have never met me?" Good. Forgiveness. It let Merrick to drop his guard, hoping that by doing so it would be a show of good faith to Lucifer and that his Father would heal him. He still needed to deal with Henry and for some bizarre reason the man was becoming a liability.

Henry was all that was left to complete the ritual, Eileen so heavily possessed she was probably screeching out in song in a corner somewhere.

"I will teach you obedience. I will teach you your place, okay?" Lucifer smiled gently, stroking Walter's cheek in affection. The demon nodded meekly, figuring the more vulnerable he appeared the further he would get in Lucifer's good graces by showing his compliance. Although the act was shoved to a halt when he felt fingers undoing Walter's slacks. Knees began to rise shakily, a pins-and-needles sensation wallowing through his muscles in a quiet sign he was not comfortable. Teeth snapped and a mouth latched onto his neck, feeling his jugular become pinched and strained. The demon felt like a dog put in his place by the alpha, jaws on his throat and forcing submission with the threat of breaking his neck. The fight in him left immediately and the mouth kissed and lapped at the teeth marks on his skin.

It was strange. Merrick made a living jumping into the mentally deranged and prone to aggression. Psychopaths, sociopaths and the whole lot gave him a high that no one else could give. The control was present and creativity was blooming unchallenged, ready for Merrick to pluck at like strings to a harp. Now it was gone and it made the demon feel out of his element and nervous.

The cool air signaled to the demon that his vessel was bare of clothing, making toes curl as he listened. Lighting was poor but still present in this area, and eyes watched Lucifer stare at him. Lying before a tombstone splashed with his blood with the Devil above him was making a deep twisted sense of irony settle in his system. Lucifer smirked and his head tilted to the right, Adam's Apple bobbing as he chuckled.

Merrick had a hunch Lucifer could hear his thoughts, making him exasperated in the dark.

Hands moved, running across his thighs until there were framing the upper edges of his pelvic bone. The touches felt like a cool balm against feverish skin and the abrasive pounding of his heart began to calm itself.

"You won't like what I'm going to do to you..." Lucifer explained quietly, busy with memorizing bruised flesh before murmuring for demon to turn back onto his stomach. Walter's body moved hesitantly, feeling hands adjust him so he's on his knees, aware of a clothed body leaning into him. Hand groped at the side of his face, other hand curled around his marked neck, forced to lean against the unmoving body against him. Walter remained still, unsure before fingers are nudging at his abused eye.

A yelp echoed in the air when fingers dug into the wounded eye, a sick squelching sound filling his ears as fingers burrow themselves curiously. The hand on his throat prevents him from thrashing too much, hands tightening on his windpipe when it became too the fingers were gone, leaving Walter wheezing and in tears, eyes glued shut. Wet fingers moved somewhere private but the demon's too focused on the damage done on the eye, ignoring the feeling of rough pads of Lucifer's fingers rubbing his entrance slick with blood. More for aesthetic reason than anything else.

Hands pushed the demon low to the floor, hips persuaded to drop as the sound of a zipper being pulled is clearly heard. Merrick tensed, jaw tight and face scrunched up in concentration to keep himself in check. Hiss left his lips when Devil aligns himself to only shove in promptly without much of a preparation. There is a painful stretch that leaves him aching and breathing in the dirt underneath him, hands clenched into fists.

Lucifer remained silent throughout the matter, not stopping until his pelvis is pressing into Merrick's backside. Each thrust is purposeful and deep, and the pain it leaves feels bone deep and forever. Once the pain begins to subside, the angle is shifted and the demon gives a throaty sound when he feels his prostate being brushed against. It leaves heat pooling in his belly, now eagerly tilting his backside towards the Devil, leaving the blond chuckling. Yet he never complies, always brushing against the spot but never going as far to actually press into it.

Large hands settled on his waist, fingers freezing and latched on to his skin, as if the very body Lucifer wore rolled right out of the consistently freezing morgue. Walter's frame couldn't stop trembling at the contrast in temperature, his own skin feverish thanks to Merrick settling deep into the core of his body. If anything it pleased the Devil, watching skin breakout in gooseflesh and muscles twitch underneath the scarred expanse of skin.

A mouth pressed into the middle of his back, sucking on a jutting vertebrae on his spine before a wet tongue ran up his spine. Blood and sweat was collected, the demon giving a groan at the feeling of a split tongue before a jaw was latched onto the back of his neck. Groan turned into a grunt, blunt teeth digging into his skin as hips resumed their cant. Walter could only think of a spoon being pushed into his neck, something that made him whine. There was a hot flash of pain when teeth broke skin and continued digging forward, pressure surrounding the back of his neck increasing.

Walter could feel a headache beginning to form behind his abused eye - pulsing. Felt as if the air became heavy, a low static just somewhere off to the right. There was a shift in the scenery in that it twitched and heaved just as he did, the focus being adjusted as if there was a malfunction with the camera equipment. Walter fancied it was because something big was about to happen. Merrick understood it as the entire plane was struggling to contain itself with someone like Lucifer's presence that was making itself more and more known. The demon could only exhale shakily in awe, whimpering at the burn of muscles being stretched along with the painful friction.

Hands pawed at the loose earth beneath him before digging already grime-covered fingers into its surface, flashes of pain blooming at his arousal pinned and chafing against the unsympathetic floor. It only spurred both demon and human on, relishing in the physical abuse, groaning despite the feel of sensitive flesh being bullied to the point of lacerations.

The demon felt a stutter in Lucifer's pace, hips giving hasty jerks, drawn out moan leaving his lips when Lucifer finally decides to pound into his prostate. Teeth sink in deeper into his neck, and regardless of the occasional hitch in breath, Walter couldn't stop the heated sounds erupting from his mouth.

Cold mouth finally left his neck to pant somewhere against his shoulder and Merrick swore he heard a "_Sam_" breathed out. That managed to piss the demon off but before he could seethe over this, his world was baptized in white fire.

Light burned his retinas, the world painted in depressing colors suddenly replaced by a brilliant white. Merrick seized and screamed at what it was doing to his demonic essence, pleading in broken languages before it vanished after what felt like hours. Sweating profusely and aware that he came across his stomach, the demon gaped and heaved for air, scent of sex and blood making him congested. The demon felt raw, as if someone ripped the skin off of his essence and left him to be burned by the sun that reached such a temperature it made him feel trapped in ice. There was a sick feeling in his stomach that was making Walter nauseas and dizzy, groaning in pain. Each limb felt disjointed and nerves unconnected, a helpless sensation gripping the young demon.

Hands stroked the demon's back, Lucifer's weight leaving him to only to feel his dirty hair yanked back, body rising with it.

"Now you listen to me, _child_," icy breath buffeted his jaw, twitching and arching into the body against him, feeling a strain on his neck. "You will finish what you started. You will make sure Lilith meets her end. You will not go off on your own adventures without my consent. Do you understand?" Teeth grazed and nicked at his skin, Merrick giving a nod in agreement, not trusting himself to speak. Already he was bitting his tongue from preventing himself on commenting how Lucifer's marriage doesn't seem to be doing so well. Like Hell did the demon want another cleansing, the thought making him twitch and fight off the urge to scurry away. He still refused to open his eyes just yet.

He could feel lips pull into a smile against his neck, aches and pains immediately vanishing, leaving him gasping in relief. Hands released him and eyes searched through the darkness to find the Devil adjusting himself.

"You should get going. Henry left the room just now," Lucifer hummed out, Walter's facial features twisting into furry as he scrambled to get his clothes on. Eyes turned to look at the Devil expectantly, wondering if help was going to be offered but the blond seemed preoccupied with himself. Swearing under his breath, he swore he was going to leave this vessel for something that did not involve the Devil in the job description.

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	2. Manners For Pigs

**Summary: **Silent Hill is wearing Sam thin, moving him another step closer to Lucifer. **  
**

**Rating: **'M' for Mature Audiences

**Pairing: **Soulless!Sam/Lucifer

**Manners For Pigs  
**Supernatural, Meet Silent Hill Series  
**Written By: **fuckyeahlucifersupernatural_  
_

_Hold it, I'm about to drop off_  
_Let me tell you my last thought_  
_Drift into a deep fog_  
_Lost where I forgot to hold it_  
_I can feel you most when I'm alone..._  
_When I'm bored I send vibrations_  
_In your direction from the satellite mind_

**Satellite Mind by Metric**

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He's pressing his mouth against a thick vein on his neck, sucking and sucking away as if skin would pull away and blood will spill into his mouth. An Adam's Apple bobs and brushes against the corner of his mouth, causing the younger male to pull back, brushing his lips fondly against it. Fingers memorize and trace the curves and depths of his neck, how it dives into the crevices of his collarbone. Mouth is too busy tasting skin. Too busy keeping that heady taste of cloves and sweat in his memory, tongue making the skin slick with a sheen that shows in the florescent lighting that flickered.

Drawing back, lips swollen, a finger rose to swipe the saliva on his lips to push it back into the confines of his mouth.

Eyes are glazed over and he can practically feel the room pulsate. Everything was alive and breathing. Walls breathed. Ground shifted. Buildings stretched and moved like limbs. This place was something of its own, whether organic or not. Hazel eyes churned until they were pale like frosted grass, pupils blown in the pumping adrenaline and carnal lust that screamed _take take take take take take take take take_. He wanted to take so badly. This world was his for the taking. Each bit and piece was his to claim and he wanted _this_ piece.

Fingers skimmed across the chest before him, skin warm in hue compared to the white tiled walls of the bathroom. To the right, blood stained the tiles and it left a puddle of congealed blood that was more gelatin in form than anything else. Give it a few more days and its thick layers would be crusting. Flaking on the floor to become part of the dust in the air. But while this world was rusting and decaying, this one...this one thrived. Pussing wounds and lacerations on the face healed. Scars faded. Dark bags underneath sweltering blue eyes simply disappeared.

Silent Hill was like a fountain of youth to the Devil's vessel and something disastrous to his one true vessel.

Sam did not react well when they entered Silent Hill. Headaches were consistent and that insatiable need for demon blood flowed into the wires of his brain out of nowhere. It said _please please please please please I insist _and Sam would shudder in bliss as he sates his thirst. Sam drifted often away from Dean and more so when Castiel joined them in their endeavor to solve a haunting. The entirety of the town was haunted and so soaked in the blood of the sinful and the innocent that it was a hotbed for the supernatural. Sam panicked as he felt the pressure of this place step on him. Could feel each hit he took take something away from him.

Castiel understood something was wrong with Sam when he practically seethed as he blessed water for them. Dean understood something was wrong after a reckless fight with something that was far from being a dog. Dean watched in muted horror his brother stomp on the creature's neck instead of simply shooting the stupid thing in the head to ensure it's dead, cooly smirking as he wipes the blood off of his shoe.

Sam was amused when he was persuaded into a chair for questioning by Dean's fist, still feeling the bruise now on his jaw.

"Has he been feverish?" Castiel inquired.

"Have you?" Dean would stare and ask in a voice that spoke of a dual role between brother and authoritarian figure.

"Is he speaking in tongues? Are you speaking tongues?"

Soulless was the diagnosis. It was not a permanent matter, it was just this hellhole was sucking away at Sam's soul. Superego and Ego were being muffled, letting the Id plow through every thought of his. There were temporary fixes such as holy candles and praying over the Winchester, but to clean this contaminated boy king required leaving the area and seeking sanctuary. Both Dean and Castiel doubted that the church within Silent Hill was considered holy ground. Sam cared so little. He had his own agenda.

He wanted to turn the tables. While before the Devil pursued him, he was now going to pursue the Devil.

Sam traces the bare stomach with his thumb before rubbing at the trail of blond hair that disappears into the waistband of Lucifer's jeans. The Devil is an enigma that breathes out his stories in yearn for sympathy but never divulges too much about his endgame. Gives vague responses of cleansing the world and saving God's perfect creation: Earth. Never speaks of what comes after the purge of those made of flesh and blood. Just smiles and murmurs compliments, stroking one's ego in a way that leaves one skeptical and mesmerized. Sam wants to pick that apart and solve this puzzle. Wants the Devil to submit to him so he can be the one with the power and the glory.

The blond hums and reaches to take Sam's hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss at his fingers. Tongue slips out to curl around his index finger before its being sucked into his mouth, kept at a cool temperature and the hunter gives a faint moan. Sam shoves a second finger in and there is nothing greedy about the way his fingers are being sucked. Its a languid yet methodical process, a sort of regal confidence on display that no matter what the position or the role in this game, he will win.

Lucifer will always win.

Fingers slip out abruptly and the fallen archangel is looking cooly at Sam through his lashes, lips quirking into a smirk. Sam ran to him. Called him. Prayed for him to come and the Winchester took precautions to marking the right side of the bathroom with Enochian banishing sigils. Sam was a sight to behold with his soul being on lockdown and body pumping with demon blood. It made the Winchester fidgety near holy items, skin hot and boiling, and Sam's mind spoke in gibberish. Cluster of dead languages and strange sounds streaming through Sam's mind whenever near the divine, and Lucifer was waiting for his darling true vessel to speak in tongues in front of his dear companions. Wanted to see him cave in to this madness.

"Strip."

"This is... Well, this is quite the jump from where we left off in our little relationship." Sam standing in a field at night, defiant and close to letting tears spill, when the Colt failed to work on Lucifer was the last he saw of him. The fallen archangel was busy bringing Death before him and chaining him to his will, but overall the interactions between archangel and vessel was not improving. "Suppose this constitutes as ah...third base?" Words are bullying and teasing, and Sam reacts by looking annoyed.

"_Strip_."

The Devil stares at Sam for a moment before reaching down to drag the zipper of his jeans down, forefinger and thumb popping the button. Hygiene is far removed from this scenario, floor dirty with grime and blood, but the archangel steps out of his shoes and socks nonetheless. Sam grows impatient. Crowding in his personal space to yank down denim, fingers practically tearing at the boxers.

Sam's absence didn't go unnoticed. Castiel was off searching a few of the buildings, attempting to find the source of this madness before announcing that Heaven's wrath should obliterate the town once and for all. Dean was on Sam duty and how Sam managed to slip away from him was still making the hunter scratch his head.

Dean was tired of scanning each room. Tired of the freaks that popped out around the corner. Sure as hell tired of the noises. Pushing a door open with his shotgun, he paused in step when he heard noises. Almost like a...pattering? No. That wasn't the right word, but the sound of a groan instantly made Dean prepare to shoot whatever sick son of a bitch was around the corner. Why did bathrooms always have to be creepy?

Licking his lips, he spun around the corner. Well, he found Sam.

Dean recognized the mop of brown hair and gray t-shirt that's been pushed up. Sam's definitely getting some action. Usually Dean would be proud because his geek of a brother really needed to get laid. Although right now didn't seem like the right time and the counter that Sam was using to pound into the body before him was unclean and grotesque. Gross. Whoever Sam was doing needed to shave their legs.

Shifting and ready to slide on out of the bathroom, eyes catch a head of blond and an all too familiar face. The Devil. Lucifer is grinning at him, legs hooked over Sam's shoulders, fingers wiggling at him in a hello. Dean feels his stomach drop because his brother was thrusting feverishly into the blond archangel, breathing harshly at each wet push and pull. Dean doesn't even think. He pulls the gun up and aims, and Lucifer snorts and gives a breathy moan to rub salt in the wound.

_BANG! _

"_DEAN! What the hell!" _Sam's voice follows right after, head turned to his right to glare at his older brother. Blood and pieces of flesh are sliding across the broken mirror, the body underneath Sam limp. Sam looks pissed as he moves a hand to wipe at his face. Lucifer's face is half on the mirror and half sliding off his skull, bone of his jaw exposed and blood pooling in his left eye socket. That didn't bother Dean. What bothered Dean was Sam. Sam not once stopped in his eager cant, and in seconds flesh is anew and the blond his working his jaw.

"That was rude."

Dean stands dumbfounded, watching Sam give a nod in agreement to Lucifer's remark before shooting a scalding look at his brother. "Can you leave?" Sam heaves out through each roll of his hips, settling into slow and deep thrusts, the bathroom beginning to fill with sounds in animalistic pleasure.

In a flurry Dean leaves the bathroom, barking out for Castiel to show his feathery ass.

This town needed to burn to the ground. Today.

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